Fathers and Sons

by Alexander Waugh

  In friendship to Arthur, Elizabeth assembled a book of his sayings and had it published in a twopenny paperback edition, by the city firm Tod & Co, as Galaxy - a table-book of prose reflections for every day in the year. Arthur, though flattered by her tribute, was anxious to avoid ‘the implication that I have had this thing done to refresh my jaded reputation’ and begged the publishers to put his name in as small a lettering as possible on the front cover. When Evelyn first heard of the book he was incredulous that anyone should wish to publish his father's lame ruminations. Arriving for luncheon with a black eye stitched up after a drunken brawl at his club, he was unaware that Arthur and K had read a report in the previous day's gossip column. When they asked about his eye he would only reply, ‘Why the morbid curiosity? I am not going to satisfy it.’ Arthur described the luncheon in a letter to Alec:

  At 12.30 on Thursday Evelyn and Laura arrived. He was in civilian clothes and had a bad looking eye. Very stiff and sarcastic. I mentioned the little book of ‘reflections’ from my books, which Betty Myers has made. He was, or pretended to be, consternated. ‘Good God,’ he said, ‘what can she possibly find to collect? I hope she hasn't made you pay her a great deal for doing it?’ I explained that she had already placed the book on a royalty and wiped the matter off the slate.

  By a strange turn Evelyn found himself billeted at Sherborne, the town of his father's fondest reveries. In the autobiography of his late years Alec claimed that Evelyn's posting there had provided a belated bond between father and younger son, but there is no other evidence to support this. At the time Alec was thousands of miles away in Baghdad and was in no position to comment. He received only one letter from Arthur in which Evelyn's posting to Sherborne was mentioned, with an allusion to Evelyn's snobbery: ‘He [Evelyn] said he was very much charmed with the country round Sherborne and thought of selling Piers Court after the war and settling at Melbury. I do not know the place but on looking up the Gazetteer I see that Lord Ilchester lives there, which may account for it.’

  Evelyn's only surviving letter to his father from Sherborne contains a few gentle teases:

  I find Sherborne a wholly splendid town. The Digby Hotel is a disgrace but there is a pleasant black market place called Plume of Feathers where we lunch daily.

  Have you thought of retiring to the alms houses here? I have been over them and enquired into the conditions of life which I find highly luxurious – coal fires winter and summer, two pints of ale a day, the daily service of a barber and regular hours in church. I think it will solve the servant problem for you. The costume is very becoming but the women have foolishly discarded their crimson cloaks.

  Mrs Wingfield-Digby is a sad bitch.

  Someone called Wyatt-Smith claims acquaintance with you.5

  The boys of Sherborne seem a pusillanimous lot who all want to become government chemists. Only a dozen or so read classics. At the Jesuit day school in Glasgow for lower middle classes 300 boys do classics.

  Best love Evelyn

  Six months later, on 3 April 1943, Arthur had a setback that debilitated his writing hand and rendered him, at times, repetitive and incoherent. Evelyn recorded in his diary:

  I visited my mother on her birthday and found her alert and more cheerful now that her cook has come back and relieved her of continuous duty by my father's side. He is infirm and very deaf; his face seems fallen away at the side as though he had had a stroke. I am told that is not the case. I conversed by writing my replies on a sheet of paper and this seemed to cause him amusement.

  Arthur was certainly in a bad way: a two-page letter took him over an hour to complete. His surviving correspondence from this time is in part illegible with long squiggles, deep knots of black ink with sudden jerky scratches clustered around the few words that are discernible. When Alec wrote from Baghdad to say that he had no wish to return to England except to see his parents, Arthur's reply contained all the robust old sentiments but the writing betrayed his body's weakness: ‘Always the same old Billy! God bless you. The years go by and changes come but to me at least “You are alone the Arabian bird.”6 Ever your loving old Father.’ Arthur hoped to live at least until his golden wedding anniversary on 5 October, but in this harmless ambition he was sorrily thwarted. On 5 June he attended his last board meeting at Chapman and Hall, more than forty years after he had been appointed managing director: ‘It really looks as though the old firm ought to live out its need for me,’ he wrote to Alec. ‘It will be very pleasant if we manage to keep light at eventide.’ A fortnight later, on the twenty-fifth, he was drowsy and lethargic. The doctor came and said there was nothing wrong, but the next morning, according to K, ‘all his functions ceased to exist’. By this she meant that he was peeing uncontrollably, all over the place. A nurse was called and he rallied after an injection to eat a normal lunch and to stay up for dinner. Then he wrote in his diary. For months his handwriting had been erratic, spindly and illegible, but on that day – his last – it was clean, round and large like a child's:

  Fine day, morning after very good sleep. Dr Gretten called at 4 o'clock, he thought there was no immediate cause for anxiety. He made two changes in my medicine. Went to sleep: had to be woken up for dinner and before I had properly begun to eat feeling very dormant but otherwise amiable.

  That night K slept on a camp bed beside him in his room. He was restless at first but later fell into a deep sleep from which he never awoke.

  * * *

  Evelyn and Laura, who were in London, came round at once. Evelyn arranged the funeral and they stayed with K in Highgate until it was all over. The church was full. They sang ‘The King of Love My Shepherd Is’ and ‘Just As I Am.’

  Just as I am, though tossed about,

  With many a conflict many a doubt,

  Fightings within, and fears without,

  O Lamb of God I come.

  In her diary K recorded a ‘beautiful service’ and sent Alec in Baghdad a follow-up letter to the telegram he had received announcing the death:

  It was dreadful having you so far away, darling Alec, you who had been everything to Father all his life. You should have been there to take your proper place at the funeral. Aunt Connie has written to you all about it. It really was a beautiful funeral, music, flowers and friends of long association all around him – just as he would have wished and the sun shone down on the scene.

  It is marvellous to have had Evelyn in London – he has seen to everything in a kindly and efficient manner. Another month he may have gone abroad and I don't know what I should have done without him… I have no definite plans except to keep this home ready for when you return.

  Good-bye darling Alec. I am so sad for you as well as for myself. I am so bad at letter writing, but I do love you.

  Your devoted Mother.

  The obituaries were fulsome and generous. ‘Mr Waugh was one of those who made history in the book trade not merely by reestablishing the fortunes of his own firm but by securing a much more enlightened policy of co-operation among those engaged in book production.’ The Times published a warm tribute, a day before the funeral, that ended: ‘In his talk he was always referring to his childhood and youth in the West Country. His affectionate pride in his two sons, Alec and Evelyn, entirely bridged any gulf that might have been presumed to exist between the literary standards of two writers so different from himself.’

  Elizabeth Myers, who was fast gaining recognition with A Well Full of Leaves, wrote a letter of consolation to Alec:

  All my success I owe to your dear father. But I owe him much more than success for he gave to me all the wisdom and love I never had from my own father and these things will never be forgotten by me… We used to talk about you endlessly. He loved you as few sons are loved by their fathers and the mention of your name was enough to exhilarate him.

  Elizabeth's transcendental vision, which had so endeared her to Arthur, is fondly recorded in a letter she sent to her friend, the dramatist and novelist Eleanor Farjeon, at the time of his
death:

  Dear, dearest Eleanor,

  I cant trust myself to speak of our dear yet without breaking down. I phoned Mrs Bridges on Saturday night and it was hopeless, but she was very good to me and told me what I wanted to know above all – that the end had been peaceful. O, how I wish I could tell you, how powerfully I feel that he is happy. And what's more, I feel that he is much nearer to me than in life here. It isn't that I am sad; for death is so triumphant and lovely; it's just that I'm selfish. But Arthur is dead, he hasn't gone. He lives in you and me and all who ever came in contact with his midsummer sweetness. And he lives in his own ever loving presence. And he lives in the love of Littleton for him and for me and in mine for them. What I owe to Arthur Waugh!

  Evelyn took Arthur's death in a loftier stride. In a diary entry, written shortly after the funeral he simply noted:

  On July 24 my father died and Brigade HQ left London for ‘Operation Husky’. It was an unfortunate coincidence as I was distracted from one by the other. I was angry with Bob for leaving me behind so easily. My father died with disconcerting suddenness. I spent most of the next few days at Highgate. The funeral was on the 27th at Hampstead. I spent some weary hours going through my father's papers and destroying letters. He kept up a large correspondence with very dull people. My mother's mind seems clouded by the business. Laura and I had Bron brought up to interest her.7

  To all letters of condolence Evelyn replied with the same air of light detachment. Here is a typical example, sent to an old family friend:

  Dear Tom

  How very nice of you to write.

  You were always a most welcome guest.

  My father had been ill for some time but no one expected him to die so suddenly. It is a disagreeable world for the old and I think he was glad to leave it. His only regret would be leaving my mother.

  I am in a backwater of the war at the moment but hope for adventure soon.

  Yours Evelyn

  A week after the funeral, Evelyn, as he mentioned in his diary, rifled through his father's desk, filing or destroying papers as he saw fit. He was astonished at the size of his father's correspondence about Alec. Three days later, he posted a letter to his brother in Baghdad. Note the use of ‘our’ and ‘my’ in relation to their parents:

  Dear Alex,

  I wrote on your birthday too late to send you any good wishes.

  You will already have heard the details of my fathers death. It is lucky that I have been in England for this month. I go abroad at the beginning of August. If you could get home it would be a good thing as our mother is desornée [sic] and lonely.

  My fathers papers have been arranged in his bureau as follows. Top drawer: letters from or concerning you. 2 drawer: papers of literary or family association. I have thought it best to destroy too little rather than too much. 3 drawer: photographs which my mother wished to go through at her leisure. 4 drawer: literary work by our father.

  My father left everything to our mother except his books which are divided between us. I am having a book plate engraved to mark his books so that eventually they can remain intact as a personal collection in our respective libraries.

  My fathers estate will probably be about £5000. This is clearly not enough to support our mother if invested in the ordinary way. Joan might care to make a covenanted allowance. The best thing would be for you to live with her; the next best that a friend should be found to share the flat. I hope that you will be able to get back to see to things after I have left.

  Yours affectionately, Evelyn

  No sooner had Alec read Evelyn's letter than he received another and was startled to recognise the handwriting on the envelope. It was from his father, written just two days before his death and delivered to Baghdad a full week and a half after his funeral. Arthur's writing is so bad that many passages of this letter are indecipherable:

  My most dear Billy,

  I have been villainously guilty in my relations vis à vis toi, having had 3 really splendid letters from you and being prevented from replying by this exasperating failure of my hand. I was plugging away when your mother said ‘My dear, you cannot possibly send that it is illegible.’ So I tore my letter to pieces and had not the endurance to begin again. But here is another attempt which I hope may be more successful.

  I am pretty well in myself, except for bad sleeping which is bound to knock me up. I feel very like the dyspepsia I got in 1931. At any rate I feel very much as I did then, before we went to Villefranche, but I have never felt anything like as bad as I was then.

  My one pleasure has been watching the school cricket which has had many good days and successful wins… I never remember a boy not much higher than the stumps getting 102 not out twice as young Laws did while Maclure was getting 74 and 30… and then… wickets…

  Evelyn has been over to see us several Sundays. He has had Laura with him. He has been most agreeable and has brought me some wine… has been a great benefit… the best I ever drank. I have two full sized bottles and 4 half bottles. May the day come when we drink it together in the kingdom of our fate.

  Evelyn is not at… is a sort of… hot dry. He has… is shouting that it does not suit…

  Well, I have looked through what I have written, but I must confess that it has made me sad. So often I have said to myself – Well, when I am growing old and ugly, at least I shall have the old gift of communication and if I can still speak in the old language, I shall be able to bring the old look back… and… to the heart… the heart of Jacob! But alas it will not. I can see the old secret vanished and when a letter comes, my dear ones can no longer… The old clouds lose their colour in the sky. Never mind, God

  bless you, son of my soul, there will never be shadows in the…

  With every tender remembrance… May every base be broad in honour…

  Your loving and grateful Father

  42When I was married in 1990, the Roman Catholic priest, Father Caraman, asked me to testify that I loathed my future wife and had no intention of having children by her, so that should I ever wish for an annulment he could bear witness to my claim. I refused.

  43Alec, She-Evelyn and others gave evidence at the tribunal. It has been asserted by several of Evelyn's anti-Catholic biographers that he induced witnesses to lie on his behalf. This, I am happy to say, is untrue and was disproved by the Latin court records of Decisio XLVIII of the Sacrae Romanae Rotae Decisiones, 1936.

  44Margery Fox replaced Mrs Yaxley who had been the Waughs’ daily help for twenty years. Arthur wrote to Joan in November 1940: ‘You could not have a greater contrast than Margery Fox, a plump little dumpling of 25… She has a “boyfriend” which always keeps a girl in a good temper. I have always found that if they get plenty of time to fornicate on Sundays the girls keep fairly cheerful during the week.’

  45Evelyn, who was a friend of Sir Winston Churchill's son, Randolph, loathed Sir Winston because ‘he was a rotten father’.

  46There were three Wyatt-Smiths at Sherborne with Alec – he must have been one of them.

  47He meant to quote Shakespeare's Cymbeline: ‘If she be furnished with a mind so rare, she is alone the Arabian bird, and I have lost the wager.’

  48Both his dates are wrong: Arthur died on 26 June 1943 and was buried on the twenty-ninth. Bob was Evelyn's commanding officer, Robert Laycock; Bron was his son, my father.

  X

  Irritability

  On the morning of 18 November 1939 Evelyn wrote in his diary:

  At 9 I was telephoned to say Laura's baby had started. I drove over to Pixton. When I arrived soon after luncheon Laura had had morphia and was cheerful and in practically no pain. She grew worse and later in the evening the local doctor summoned help from Tiverton to induce the baby. A son was born shortly before midnight.

  Laura and Evelyn were delighted when their second child turned out to be a boy. According to one of his earliest biographers, ‘Evelyn's desire for a son and heir could not have been stronger if he had been a reigning prince.�
�� I don't know how the writer knew this but let us, for the sake of argument, accept it. Although they were pleased to have a son, both Evelyn and Laura disliked babies. When telegrams of congratulation came in, Evelyn responded: ‘Many thanks for your telegram. The midwife speaks highly of the baby.’ In a letter to his friend Mary Lygon two days later Evelyn appears to have examined ‘it’ a little more closely: ‘Laura has had a son. Will you be it's god-mother? It is to be called Auberon Alexander. It is quite big and handsome and Laura is very pleased with it. We would so love it if you would accept. Please do.’

  I do not know how, why or when Evelyn was induced to call his child Auberon as it was the name of Laura's only brother whom he detested. In a passage excised by my father during Great-uncle Auberon's lifetime from the published version of the diaries, Evelyn had written:

  Laura's brother Auberon came for the night at his own invitation. He wished to discuss his career in journalism. We made him tell us something of his clownish courtship of Elizabeth Cavendish. Slow of speech, dirty of body, clumsy of movement, conceited, oafish – a horrible young man.